


cha-ching (til we grow older)

by cathedralhearts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathedralhearts/pseuds/cathedralhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Jordan thinks he knows, and what he actually knows, are two completely different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cha-ching (til we grow older)

**Author's Note:**

> Jordan is 16 and Taylor is turning 16, for reference. If this and homophobic language makes you uncomfortable, don't read.
> 
> In reality, Gagner is a 1989 baby (representin’!), Ebs, Stamkos, Schultz, Teubert, Brown and Tavares are born in 1990, Hallsy in 1991 and Nugent-Hopkins in 1993. I’ve aged Nuge up to be in the same year as Hallsy, and I’ve aged them both a year as they’d be in grade 9 otherwise... or something. I’m not from Canada, so my knowledge on their education system is basic.

 

Guys like Jordan Eberle don’t get guys like Taylor Hall. They don’t “get” in any spectrum of the meaning — as a friend, as a best friend, as a _boyfriend_. It just doesn’t happen in the latter, and the only reason the former occurs is because of history; knowing someone before they became too cool. Before they became unattainable. Jordan and Taylor don’t really fall into either of these categories, anyway. He’s known Taylor since they were kids and they ran in the same crowds, and there’s always been hockey in the background. They were happy, together and apart, but Taylor grew up and moved up the social ladder, and Jordan — Jordan didn’t. Not really. 

Jordan is average sized, with dark wavy hair and blue eyes, a huge gap between his teeth and a nervous giggle. He’s average at hockey, average at school; average at life. He lost his virginity last year, to a friend of his cousin’s at her 18th birthday, and he was pretty fucking average at that, too. 

But Taylor. Taylor Strba Hall is something else entirely. 

Taylor is a fucking _amazing_ hockey player; an assistant captain on the school team even though he’s only in grade 10 this year, simply because he’s already a ridiculous unit and exactly the kind of winger needed to lead the Frontenac Falcons to glory this season. He’s huge and blonde and blue-eyed, with big lips that he constantly chews on at practise; it drives Jordan to distraction. He’s half-Serbian or something as well, and knows French and whatever language his mom speaks, along with dating one of the swimmers (some girl named Megan, that Jordan didn’t even know existed until he rocked up at Sam’s birthday with her last year) and in most of the classes Jordan knows he takes, he seems to be holding down an A-average.

Basically, Taylor is everything Jordan isn’t, and everything he wants with a burning passion that gives him boners in math class and dominates his spank bank. It’d be embarrassing if anyone knew, but Jordan’s worked hard to keep that shit on lock for the past five years. 

Five years he’s been pining for Taylor, properly dumbstruck-in-love pining, but every day is a day closer to his senior graduation and escape to Toronto, where he’s got an internship waiting at his uncle’s engineering firm while he goes to university. He’s only got two years left now — it’s beyond pathetic for him to be hung up over someone younger than him, let alone for that fucking long. 

As he’s lying in bed, his alarm droning next to his head, he decides that from today he’s getting over Taylor, if it’s the last thing he does. He needs to get a boyfriend, get laid regularly and get his grades up so he can get into university and work. 

This year is going to be better than any other year he’s had. It _has_ to be. 

 

Apparently he isn’t kidding anyone, as he powers his way through a shower and clatters downstairs. He gets dressed in jeans and an Oilers tee that he got for his birthday, which was one of the best gifts _ever_. He has plans to drive to Toronto next time Edmonton comes to play the Leafs, Schultzy’s older brother promising to let them crash for the night before the drive back. 

His mom sighs at his outfit and the state of his hair (“Mom, it’s _fine_!”), and he kicks out at Ashley as she makes moves to come near him.

“You’re in grade 11, Jordan! You can’t look like such a mess! People can’t know I’m related to you!” she whines loudly, as he fights with Dustin for control of the honey. Whitney clomps downstairs and starts complaining about Ashley using all the hot water in their bathroom, and their parents start yelling and Jake joins in as well, barking loudly.

Being the middle child is never boring, Jordan can say that much, and his phone starts ringing in his hoodie as he makes moves at the stack of pancakes. He pulls it out and sees Sam’s number flashing up on the screen.

“What?” he asks, his mouth full. Dustin’s jabbing him for the honey, and he hands it over and follows it with an elbow, snickering as Dustin shrieks. 

Sam’s been his friend since they played in the same midget team for a couple of years, before Sam’s parents settled to Kingston when his dad retired from hockey. Last year his mom carpooled the Eberle kids with Sam and his sister Jessica, but Sam got his license a few months ago, as did Ashley. Jordan now goes with Sam and some of their friends, and Ashley takes Jessica and the rest of their siblings. 

Jordan just _really_ likes not having to be stuffed in Mrs. Gagner’s minivan anymore. 

 

“I’m just picking up Schultzy and Hallsy, be out the front in like, two minutes!” Sam says and hangs up, and Jordan glares at his phone and shoves the rest of his pancake in his mouth.

“Sam’s on his way, I gotta go!” Jordan announces to nobody in particular, grabbing his lunch bag off his mom and squeezing his face up as she kisses his cheek. He shucks on his sneakers and grabs his backpack, hoisting his hockey bag over a shoulder as he picks his way down the front steps, the door clanging behind him and the dog’s howls following it. 

His phone starts ringing again, but this time it’s Nuge, and he jams it between his free shoulder and cheek as he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

His parents got Sam a truck when he got his license, which is ridiculous — Sam isn’t that tall, nor he does he fucking deserve one — but whatever. It means they all can fit their hockey shit in the back and not have to be on top of each other, which is the last thing Jordan needs in his life, especially when it concerns Taylor. 

Today’s his new leaf, and space is the thing he needs most for it to succeed.

 

“Nuge, first day!” Jordan crows, renewed with optimism. He’s excited to test out his new resolution, and is totally using first period to draw up a game plan. He can _do_ this. 

“Yeah, yeah...” Nuge mutters, and Jordan can hear his older brother swearing about something in the background.

“Adam pissed already?” Jordan sniggers and Nuge sighs loudly. He’s also in Taylor's year, and used to live next to Jordan and played shinny with him growing up, but he moved across town once Adam got into university — which _sucked_. It was a lot easier, running next door to get at Mrs. Nugent’s cookies; now he has to bike across town, and it’s fucking hot and just... he’s way too lazy for that shit now. He would drive, but he failed getting his permit twice already. Besides being unbelievably embarrassing, he won't try again for a while because his parents refuse to pay anymore. 

“Something like that. Anyway, uhm... have you seen Hallsy yet?” Nuge asks, and Jordan frowns.

“No, but—” he starts, getting cut off as Sam’s huge black SUV comes careening around the corner. Sam’s in the driver seat with his douchebag snapback on backwards, and Schultzy’s next to him, which means Taylor’s in the back seat. Mother _fuck_.

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!” Sam hoots, and Jordan flips him the bird and heads to the back of the car, popping the trunk and hoisting his bag into the back as he tells Nuge to hang on. 

First days fucking _suck_ , because it means he has to lug his stupidly heavy hockey gear back to school. He’s all but guaranteed to make the team, because he’s dependable and everyone knows him, and his chemistry with everyone is “great”, as Coach said last season. Besides, it’s not like Kingston is overrun with right wingers or anything. 

He’s not that fussed about playing — he wants to quit, actually, because seeing Taylor naked every day is not going to help with the whole “getting over” him plan. He even skipped the summer camp in an effort to be less pathetic. (Not that it worked, since he pretty much spent the whole time trying to pump the guys for information, and working out in frustration to counteract his guilt wanks. As a result, his ass is even fatter than last year and he’s gone up a pants size and _two_ shirt sizes. It was so lame, having to listen to his mom bitch about having to replace half his wardrobe while they wandered around the mall.)

 

He opens the left-side door and throws his backpack inside, hauling himself up and into the car, slamming the door and grabbing for his phone. 

“I’m back,” he says, slightly breathless and fuck him sideways, the summer has been _amazing_ to Taylor. The guy’s sprawled over the right side of the car, deeply tanned from the expanses of skin Jordan can see under his shorts and t-shirt, and his hair’s grown out from the buzz cut he rocked last year, so it’s floppy and sun streaked. He’s staring at Jordan and smiles, wide and happy, and holds out a takeaway cup.

“Hey Ebby,” he says, holding the cup closer. Jordan resists the urge to melt at the special nickname coming from Taylor’s mouth. He’s Ebs or Jordy to everyone else, except Taylor. He doesn’t really know why, but the first time they met Taylor had decided that none of his nicknames worked for him. Jordan had just shrugged at the time, but looking back now it was — it was _special_. Maybe the start of this whole mess, even. 

“What’s this?” Jordan asks, wedging his phone back against his ear and shoulder, and Taylor shrugs.

“You usually get a mocha latte, right? We went past Starbucks on the way to get Schultzy,” Taylor says, and Jordan nods.

“Thanks,” he says and sips it, trying not to moan. He is such a bitch for Starbucks, and the less people that know, the better.

“...Ebs?” Nuge’s voice is tinny and he adjusts the phone.

“Yeah, I’m here. Can it wait until we get to school? I’m on the way now,” he sighs and Nuge swears.

“No, _look_ , I spent time in the summer with Hallsy and he — he _knows_ you like him. Love him, whatever.”

Jordan feels himself go cold all over, the cup almost slipping from his grip. He thought he’d been so careful to avert his eyes in the locker room, not to stare _too_ hard whenever they were at parties together or at lunch. Five years he’d thought the secret was his alone to keep, to know about and to be ashamed over, and Nuge has just blown everything apart. 

“W... _what_?” he croaks, and Taylor frowns.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and Jordan starts nodding furiously. 

“Yep, I’m fine...” he gasps out, shuffling over and turning away, into the corner.

“ _What the fuck do you mean_?!” he hisses, and Nuge sighs.

“Oh, my God. Look, I’ll tell you at school. I’m guessing you’re actually _in_ the car with him right now. Try not to be a conspicuous freakazoid, okay?” Nuge says, hanging up. Jordan sits up and chugs half his drink, furiously willing himself to stop being weird. It doesn’t work. 

Sam looks at him in the rearview.

“You look more pale than usual, Snow White. Everything okay? Or did you just not leave your room all summer?” he sniggers and Jordan flips him the bird.

“Fuck you, I went to Jersey for two weeks! And I worked out all summer.”

Taylor perks up from next to him, picking at the label on his coffee cup.

“Really? How was it?” he asks and Jordan blushes, and looks down at his lap. Goddamnit, _Taylor knows Taylor knows Taylor knows_ is all that’s going in his head and he can’t think of anything to respond with, so he just kind of gives a weird shrug and clears his throat.

“It was okay. Didn’t do much,” he mumbles.

“That’s bullshit. Didn’t you learn how to surf? And then there was that cute girl from the apartment building across the street or some shit?” Schultzy calls from the front, and Jordan squeezes his eyes shut and wills something, _anything_ to happen so he doesn’t have to answer. Instead, the car falls silent waiting for him to answer, and he sneaks a look at Taylor. 

He looks — well, he looks kind of _pissed_ actually, which is all kinds of weird, and sends Jordan even more off balance. God, he can never, ever drive to school with Sam again if this is what it’s going to be like. Fuck his life. He really doesn’t want to be stuck in a car again with his sisters.

“Uhm yeah, I surfed a lot... with my brother. And there was no girl, Schultzy, so shut up!” 

The call falls silent again and Sam cranks the radio, and they listen to shitty pop music all the way to school. Jordan bails out first, just as Sam puts the parking brake on, and has popped the boot and grabbed his hockey bag before the others have even moved. “Bye!” he shouts through the back and legs it onto the grounds, his bag banging wildly against his side.

 

Nuge is at his locker, his own bag at the ground, when Jordan almost skids down the hall and risks slamming into one of the twins, who glare dirtily at him. 

“Nuge!” he yells and Nuge looks up and groans. Jordan stops next to him and dumps his bag, and goes to grab his backpack so he can shove it in his locker — located in the next row — but his hand finds air.

“...where’s my backpack?” he asks, and Nuge rolls his eyes. 

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

Jordan groans, and bangs his forehead against a locker. 

“ _Fuck_ , I left it in Sam’s car. I got so freaked out after what you told me, I acted like such a freak. Ugh, now I have to go back and —” He’s cut off by someone clearing their throat, and he turns to see Taylor standing there, looking amused. He’s got Jordan’s backpack slung over his free shoulder, and Jordan manages a weak smile.

“You were so eager to get in here that you left your bag,” Taylor says and holds it out.

“Thanks. I’m an old man now, so my memory’s not so good...” he jokes and Taylor laughs.

“It’s all good. Hey, Ryan... see you in homeroom?” he asks, and walks off. Jordan turns to Nuge, an eyebrow raised.

“ _Ryan_? Nobody’s called you Ryan since we were like, 10...” he says. Nuge rolls his eyes. Jordan can’t help but laugh at that, and kicks his hockey bag toward his locker. 

“So, how the fuck does he _know_? I didn’t even really know until...” Jordan says.

“Until the second you realised he was your fucking soulmate or whatever? Yeah, you haven’t been fooling _anyone_. You constantly stare at him in a really — well, not creepy way, but you look like you just took one to the face or something. You look _concussed_ , and you act really stupid whenever he’s around.”

Jordan winces, because he kind of fucking _feels_ like taking a puck to the face, or any part of his body, whenever Taylor’s around. He just didn’t realise he was that obvious about it. He slams his locker shut, and they start walking towards the gym to stash their bags.

“Anyway, we were at the training camp Gags’ dad was running, the one you bitched out of because you said you didn’t know if you were coming back to hockey? Yeah, that one. And there was a night where someone snuck in vodka and Hallsy got super drunk and bailed me up when I went to pee, and asked me if you liked him. I didn’t know what to say, and I was pretty drunk as well … so he just kind of smiled and said that was answer enough and like, the next morning he didn’t mention it ... so maybe he forgot? I don’t know.”

Jordan feels sick as they walk into the locker rooms, and spot most of their potential team dumping their bags in a pile in the corner, their names written on the side. Nuge elbows Sam out the way and shoves his bag on top of Sam’s, burying it deeper and laughing as Sam squawks in protest. Jordan places his in front of theirs, noticing the E for Eberle is starting to fade. 

He thinks about finding a Sharpie before they leave when Taylor appears next to him, and puts his bag down next to Jordan’s, so they’re touching. Jordan wonders if getting a semi over something so stupid as their gear bags touching is as pathetic as it feels. He feels pretty fucking pathetic.

“Didn’t think you were coming back this year...” Taylor says, more of a question than anything, and Jordan shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets.

“I’d have to play lacrosse then, and I suck a lot less at hockey. Plus, Coach Weber is an asshole,” he says and Taylor laughs. Sam elbows his way between them and grins.

“So, first blowout of the year at mine on Friday? Dad’s going away on some coaching retreat and Mom’s flying to New York on Thursday for some lawyer conference, so the house is practically _begging_ for a party. Jess is going to yours this weekend, Ebs, so no kids to worry about.”

Jordan snorts. “We’re all really underage, you non. If we get busted, you’re getting arrested for supplying minors with alcohol and like, civil disobedience or something.”

“Hey, I’ve only been 18 for like, a month,” Sam protests and everyone laughs. 

“Grandpa,” Nuge says and ducks away from a noogie.

“Only you could be held back a year because your dad was a mad awesome hockey player and you moved around too much,” Schultzy sighs at Sam, who shrugs.

“Whatever, means I get to hang out with you losers for another year! So yeah, party. I’ll provide the booze if you give me twenty each to cover costs for food and shit? It’ll be a _small_ thing, Ebs, don’t get your panties in a twist. Just us, some more dudes from the team, maybe some of the swimmer girls? Taylor’s got the hook up,” Sam laughs, elbowing Taylor.

“Not anymore. Me and Megan broke up over the summer,” he says, and everyone gasps.

“ _What_?!” 

“We just... grew apart, whatever.” Taylor looks uncomfortable, and Sam looks like he’s going to drill further and Jordan doesn’t need to hear the details, so he steps away and slings an arm around Nuge, dragging him towards the door.

“He’s being nice to me, so that’s obviously code for _we’re just friends, so don’t touch my dick_ or something, so whatever. Besides, I’ve decided this year is the year I get over him,” Jordan says as they head back to their lockers, and Nuge laughs and ducks away from him.

“I bet that lasts like, five seconds,” he says and Jordan shrugs. Like he cares.

 

Homeroom is boring, only forced on them the first day of a new semester, and Jordan starts doodling in his diary as their teacher, Mr West, is taking attendance. Tubes and John are sitting on either side of him and they’re about to start up an epic game of hangman (Jordan always wins, mostly because he can’t spell for shit and nobody knows what he’s talking about) when there’s a knock on the door. 

Stammer is sitting closest and opens it, and half the guys throw cheers and greetings when Taylor appears, his backpack slung over his arm and looking nervous. Jordan’s about to start throwing things — he literally _cannot_ escape this guy. 

“Yes, Mr Strba?” Mr West says, looking amused. He’s the assistant coach for the Falcons as well, and takes a ridiculous amount of joy in using Taylor’s other last name. He goes by Hall in every class, on the back of his jersey and everywhere that matters, and only a few people bother use, or know how to pronounce, his other name. 

Taylor flushes red, and clears his throat.

“Uh, did Dr Bettman explain about —” he starts, stumbling over his words, and Jordan frowns. Taylor’s never nervous. It’s one of the reasons he’s the captain of their team this season, why the guys are all willing to follow him through just about anything. It’s one of the many embarrassing reasons Jordan’s been so fucking _gone_ over him for years.

“Yes, Mr Strba, I know. Take a seat — there’s one spare next to Mr Eberle. Everyone, Taylor has skipped a year, so he’s going to be in grade 11 this year.”

Jordan’s mouth falls open as Taylor makes his way to the back of the class, slapping hands with John and Stammer as he goes, before throwing a smile at Jordan and sliding into the seat next to him. Jordan literally cannot move.

“You okay?” Taylor whispers and Jordan nods.

“Why... _why_ didn’t you say anything, in the car?” he asks, and Taylor shrugs.

“You were on the phone... and then you kind of looked freaked out, I dunno. I didn’t want to bother you,” he says, and Jordan feels his heart tug painfully in his chest. Fucking _fuck_ , this guy really has to stop being so fucking perfect.

 

“Let’s see your timetable,” John says as Mr West tells them they can do what they want for the period, since first day is usually a wash anyway. They’ve all congregated around Jordan’s desk at the back, Sam having appeared from his senior homeroom with a “library pass” that’s totally not getting used. Taylor hands it over wordlessly, and John starts laughing.

“Man, this is insane. Ebs, aren’t you taking all these classes?” he asks, and Jordan starts praying that he’s not, as he takes the timetable. His stomach sinks as he looks at it, and tries hard not to let it show on his face.

“English 307 ... French 304 … PE … Chemistry 301 … yeah, looks like it. He’s got everything but French with me, I’m in 301.”

“Dumbass French,” Sam sniggers and Jordan punches him in the thigh. 

“At least I was allowed _in_ a language class!” he shoots back and Sam makes a face. He gives the timetable back to Taylor, who’s smiling again. 

“That’s cool. I’m probably gonna need help with stuff...” Taylor trails off, and Jordan scoffs. 

“Dude, you got put ahead. If anything, _I’m_ gonna be asking for help.”

Everyone laughs and starts shittalking Jordan’s atrocious spelling, and Jordan sinks back into his chair and returns to his doodles. He tries hard to keep his eyes on the page and not wander back to Taylor, watching him joke around with the guys, comfortable and at ease. 

 

First period ends and they have English, and Taylor trails after Jordan while he says goodbye to the others. He turns to Taylor and is about to try and make awkward small talk, when a long arm snakes over his shoulder.

“Hello sweetheart,” Brownie’s voice purrs in his ear and he rolls his eyes and elbows the guy off him.

“Fucking Brownie,” he mutters and Sam laughs. 

“Browndog! Heard you picked up a piece of Brampton ass over the summer, eh?” Sam grins and Brownie rolls his eyes. He’s a senior, like Sam, and while he’s not the only openly gay guy either in their school or on the team, Brownie _was_ the first to come out and there has been a huge deal about _not_ making it a huge deal. It’s not like he can’t handle himself, anyway. He was their enforcer last year, and will probably get the spot again this year. 

“Hallsy, you got put up a year?” Brownie asks, ignoring Sam and smiling at Taylor, who nods.

“How’d you know?”

“Tyler mentioned it — you guys were on that camp together for a few weeks?”

Taylor’s about to say something, but Sam spots more guys he knows and starts yelling about the house party. He’s decided he’s getting more kegs between homeroom and now, and throws out random figures of money for people to give him. Jordan hates beer but it’s all they ever seem to be able to get. He’d love, just once, to get blitzed on tequila. He _loves_ tequila. 

Taylor tugs on Jordan’s sleeve, snapping him out his daydreams. 

“C’mon Ebby, this is us,” he says and they wave goodbye to everyone and walk in. Taylor greets friends of his — he fucking knows _everyone_ — while Jordan makes his way to the back of the class and slumps in a seat. He’s about to take out their required reading and pretend to flick through a few pages, just so he doesn’t have to watch Taylor do the whole awkward _I walked here with you but actually like these guys better — sorry, buddy_ move, but Taylor keeps going past them and drops into the empty seat on Jordan’s left.

“Ugh, I fucking hate Shakespeare,” he grumbles and Jordan blinks and nods.

“Y-yeah, me too.” 

He looks at Taylor’s friends, who don’t even seem to be paying them any more attention, and then back to Taylor who’s digging around in his bag, looking for his shit.

This year is starting off _so fucking weird_.

 

When lunch period and hockey tryouts comes, Jordan is feeling all sorts of confused and happy. Tryouts go exactly as he expects — Coach and Mr West are impressed with his development, even without camp (Sam whips him with a towel and talks non-stop about his fat ass all fucking break, and even Nuge voices his surprise that Jordan has bulked up so much) so there’s no real competition for his role. Coach tests him, Nuge and Taylor on a line for the practise and they’re on fucking fire, which doesn’t help his whole Avoiding Taylor This Year plan. Fucking _fuck_.

 

He spends the end of lunch in the guidance counsellor's office, listening to her drone on about taking “university applications” seriously. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, and he inhales half a sandwich on the way to double Chemistry, which he has with Taylor again. Once he collapses into a seat, Taylor hustles Mags away from sitting with him — which he’s done since freshman year — pouting a little, claiming he needs Jordan to ‘help him out’ because he sucks at Chem. Mags doesn’t buy it for a minute and raises an eyebrow at Jordan, who shrugs helplessly and shoots a smile at Taylor when he slides next to him.

“Y’know, you can sit with people you know, right?” he says slowly, as Taylor dumps his textbooks on the table and relaxes with a loud sigh. 

“Don’t you want me to sit here?” he asks, looking a little hurt, if Jordan knows anything about human emotion. He’s so fucking confused.

“Uhm — wh— no, I mean. Yeah, of course. I’m not saying like, _don’t_ or anything, just… don’t feel like, pressured or whatever?” he tries, and Taylor frowns.

“I just... I mean. I just thought that since we’ve known each other for a while, y’know? And since I don’t really know anyone in this year… and we play hockey together, so it’s not really fair on Mags to be like, dealing with a lab partner who’s always got a weird schedule, y’know?” Taylor says, and Jordan nods.

“Like I said man, I don’t care. I mean, it’s cool... or whatever,” he trails off. Taylor smirks.

“Where were you at the end of lunch?” he asks and Jordan sighs.

“Sitting with Potts. Apparently university applications are something to be ‘seriously considering’ — like I haven’t been freaking out about it enough for next year,” Jordan mutters and Taylor nods.

“Where are you thinking about applying?” he asks.

“I’ve got an internship at an engineering company with my uncle in Toronto... so one of the various universities there — or Ottawa.”

“Not going down south?” 

“Maybe Buffalo State, or somewhere close to the border. Kinda expensive, though. I dunno, kind of just looking at Canada right now. Means I can get drunk legally, at least,” he says and Taylor laughs. 

“Man, you’re gonna have to start worrying about that earlier now, too...” he says and Taylor shrugs.

“No biggie. I’m gonna basically do the same as you — apply for a bunch of places up here, and a few near the border,” Taylor smiles. 

 

French is his last class of the day, and it already feels strange not having Taylor around, which is the exact fucking opposite of what he’s trying to do. He makes a face as Schultzy comes and sits down next to him.

“Man, I never had any friends sitting with me in class and now I can’t fucking escape you all,” he grumbles and Schultzy rolls his eyes.

“Glad I’m not the only one who thinks Hallsy sticking to you like an old jock is weird,” he says and Jordan can’t help the blush.

“He’s just nervous, or whatever. He’ll get more comfortable and go hang out with his own friends,” Jordan says, and Schultzy snorts.

“I don’t think so. He busted his ass to get his grades up so he could skip ahead. And he _always_ stalked you in hockey.”

“Don’t be a douche, Justin. I’m not in the mood!” Jordan snaps. Schultzy rolls his eyes but lets it slide. Jordan knows it’s all bullshit, Schultzy trying to push him off kilter or whatever. He’s not in the habit of giving himself false hope. 

 

By the time the final bell rings, they make their way back to their lockers and Jordan’s stacking his French books towards the back, halfway in his locker, when someone bumps his hip. He peers under his arm and sees Sam, grinning like he’s won the fucking lottery.

“The fuck do you want?” Jordan mumbles, grabbing his backpack and shutting his locker.

“Schultzy told me he talked to you about Hallsy’s crush on you,” he says and Jordan sighs loudly. It’s been an extremely confusing and uncomfortable first day, and all he wants to do is go home, eat something and nap. 

“Whatever man, you guys are fucking dumb. Now get away from me,” he said, shoving his shit in his bag.

“I’m telling you, he talked about you _all_ fucking camp and like, was super hurt you didn’t come. You’re the only one who doesn’t see it,” Sam says and Jordan glares. The hallway is relatively busy and loud, and nobody’s at their lockers surrounding him just yet, so he feels safe in unloading on Sam. 

“This is all you chirping me because you know I like him, isn’t it? It’s not fucking funny, Sam! It’s bad enough I have to fucking deal with him in every damn class, now he’s gonna be on my fucking line at hockey?! I can’t catch a fucking break! I’m trying to get over this stupid crush I have, and none of you are fucking helping!” he exclaims, slamming his locker shut.

“Whoa, Jordan, _Jesus_ —” Sam starts, reaching out for him, but Jordan shrugs him off and storms towards his sisters. 

“I’m going home with them,” is all he says, and shoves blindly through the crowds until he spots Ashley and Whitney chatting in front of Ashley’s locker.

“Can we fucking go, or what?” Jordan snaps, and Whitney raises an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you getting a ride with Sam?” she asks, and Jordan’s hands ball into fists.

“Fucking no, we’re fighting. Just, hurry the fuck up, I need to get out of here!” he snarls and Ashley shoots a look at Whitney, but shuts her locker and pushes Jordan towards the front door. He slides in the backseat and jams earbuds into his ears, letting the music zone him out.

 

He changes into shorts and his running shirt when he gets home, hoping to run the stress out of himself. An hour later, he’s sweaty and shitty but no less clearer on his stupid life. He showers and changes into basketball shorts and an old Falcons tee, sinking into bed and pulling his laptop on his knees. 

Sam’s called him several times and texted, so has Nuge, and both of them write on his Facebook wall, telling him to call them when he sees their messages. “Not fucking happening,” he mumbles. He watches mindless shit on YouTube, settling on the first Mighty Ducks movie, until his mom is calling up the stairs for dinner. 

Nobody pressures him after he refuses to speak about his day, beyond a “Fine, thanks” when his dad asks at first. 

He does his chores and crawls into bed, staring at the wall until he passes out.

 

*

 

The next four days pass in a shitty blur, avoiding his friends and keeping his interactions with Taylor to short bursts of monosyllabic conversation, until even Taylor backs off. 

It’s not what he wants, but it’s what’s best, so he just — he _deals_ with it, exactly like he told himself he was going to. This year and next are just going to be super fucking lonely and depressing.

 

On Friday afternoon, when the final bell rings, Nuge comes up to him at his locker.

“You still coming to Sam’s tonight?” he asks, and Jordan shrugs.

“Sam — he’s sorry, about saying shit about Taylor. He didn’t know. Apparently you kept it pretty hidden from everyone but me,” Nuge whispers, and Jordan sighs and leans his forehead against the cool metal of his shitty locker.

“I just don’t want to like him anymore. It feels shitty and I’m tired,” Jordan whispers back, and Nuge just looks fucking _sad_. 

“Okay. You should still come for a bit, just so he can like... apologise in person, or whatever.”

Jordan nods and Nuge squeezes his shoulder, and walks off to leave him be. 

 

Ashley’s going to the party, and stands at his door before she’s ready to leave. He’s in pyjamas, and she’s dressed up — in comparison, anyway.

“So, you’re really pissed at Sam then,” she says and Jordan frowns. 

“Is this because he knows about Taylor?” she asks, and Jordan sits bolt upright.

“How the fuck—” he starts, and she laughs and rolls her eyes, walking in and shutting the door behind her.

“You’re my baby brother, it’s my business to know. Besides, you haven’t shut up for the past five years about how great Taylor is. I guessed it was a little more than just being super good friends with him... especially since he never came over or anything. We just wanted to give you time,” Ashley says, and Jordan pushes his laptop aside and hugs her.

“I’m trying to get over him so I can focus on other shit. I’m just tired,” he says, sitting down next to her and she nods.

“You know Mom and Dad would support you in this, right? You’re not scared to tell them, because you shouldn’t be.”

Jordan laughs. 

 

His mom had worked out he was into boys when he was little, and kept talking about Patrick from school and how pretty his eyes were. His dad had awkwardly tried to give him the sex talk when he was 14, and Jordan — in an attempt to break the ice — had said something about it being a waste of time since he wouldn’t be sticking it in vaginas any time soon. His father had bust out a grin and said “Thank God, I didn’t know how much longer I could pretend not to know!” and hugged him until Jordan couldn’t breathe. So, his sister was kind of late to his coming out party.

 

“Mom and Dad already know. I just... hadn’t gotten around to telling you guys, yet.” 

He ducks her enraged blow and starts laughing. “How long?!” she exclaims, and Jordan shrugs.

“Dad’s known since I was 14... Mom a little longer. I dunno, it just wasn’t important. It _isn’t_ important,” he says, and Ashley hugs him tight.

“Of course it is, you non. I love you, and I’m proud of you. You really should come to the party... and if Taylor’s there, we’ll just find you some super hot guy to take your mind off him!” 

Jordan shakes his head but lets her tug him out and towards his closet.

 

They arrive at Sam’s house an hour later, Jessica having situated herself firmly in Whitney’s room, and Jordan just feels stupid. 

Ashley convinced him to wear a pair of his old jeans, because being barely able to fit over his ass and tight as hell translated into ‘going to score’. “It’s going to be mostly people from school, and I don’t want to fuck anyone from school,” Jordan had whined, while Ashley searched for a shirt that didn’t make her want to vomit.

“No, Sam put it on Facebook. There’s gonna be a lot of people,” she had said over her shoulder, emerging with a white v-neck and a thin grey cardigan he’d forgotten he owned.

“Perfect,” she said as he pulled them on, and doused him in cologne. She tried to run her fingers through his hair with gel, but it was a fail all around and she gave up pretty quickly.

“Well, as perfect as you’re gonna get,” she amended and Jordan had punched her (gently).

 

Nuge answers the door, dressed in a black tee and jeans, and whistles at Jordan. “Someone got his game on,” he says and Jordan elbows past him, his sister apologising. 

“Where’s the keg?” he asks, as Schultzy appears and pushes an empty solo cup in his hand.

“Uh, kitchen. Hey, you all good? You’ve been kinda weird this week,” he says and Jordan hitches a shoulder.

“I’m alright, whatever. Kitchen, yeah?” he says and Schultzy nods, and he and his sister walk in and spot it on the main counter. There’s a few people lined up, so they settle in and wait, chatting about their next trip back to Regina to see their grandparents. He shrugs off his cardigan and stashes it in a cupboard, already sweating even though the air conditioner is working hard.

Jordan’s pumping and watching the beer flow into his cup (Bud, because Sam is incapable of not being a douchebag) when the host appears in the doorway, face flushed — like he’s just run up from the basement or something.

“Ebs!” he exclaims, and Jordan sighs and moves so his sister can get at the keg.

“Go away, douche—” he starts, but Sam grabs his arm and hauls him to the toilet under the stairs, pushing him inside and shutting the door.

“I really don’t want to be in a closed space with you right now, man...” Jordan starts, and Sam leans against the door and looks ridiculously contrite.

“I am telling you, I am 110% sorry for being such a massive idiot. I really didn’t know you were into Hallsy. You hid it _really_ well, okay? Nuge told me I was a fucking idiot and you were super obvious, but whatever. I don’t notice shit like that, ever.”

Jordan sighs and rubs his face, sitting on the top of the toilet lid.

“I didn’t want anyone to know, because being gay and a hockey player is like — the worst shit ever, okay? I’m not Brownie, I can’t deal with that shit. I didn’t want to get hate crimed, and I still don’t. And I’m pretty sure Taylor is so ridiculously straight _and_ out of my league that just... fuck, man. I don’t know. I just want to get over him, so I can fuck around for a while and then leave.” Jordan says, and Sam just shakes his head.

“I — dude, Hallsy is totally not—” he starts, before someone bangs on the door.

“What’re you fags doing in there? Hurry up, I gotta piss!” someone yells, and Jordan’s eyes narrow and Sam swears and flings the door open. Some asshole Jordan doesn’t recognize is standing there, swaying unsteadily, a half-filled cup in his hand.

“Get the fuck out my house!” Sam yells in his face, and the dude takes a check and stumbles backwards.

“W-what?” he asks, and Sam grabs him and drags him to the door.

“Anyone wanna use words like that doesn’t get at my booze! That goes for everyone! If I hear anyone being a homophobic or racist fuckface, you can get the fuck out before I throw you out!” Sam yells to the room at large, and Jordan feels his heart swell. He turns and slings his arm around Jordan, and Jordan laughs.

“Sam Gagner, changing the world one asshole at a time,” he says and Sam nods. He pulls him out the back to the fire pit, where a bunch of guys from their team are sitting, chatting and laughing with each other. 

Jordan’s eyes are drawn to Taylor immediately, looking sinfully good in tight jeans and a striped white and grey tee. His hair is hidden behind a backwards grey snapback, but his lips are redder than usual — probably from the punch Jordan can see in his cup.

“Look who showed up!” Sam exclaims, and everyone cheers. Jordan rolls his eyes but lets himself get manhandled into a spare seat between Tubes and Sam, and spends the next hour getting drunk and enjoying himself. 

 

They move onto beer pong — Jordan and Nuge team up against Schultzy and Stammer, and then Taylor and Sam come up to play.

“Shots,” Sam demands, producing a bottle of Patron. Jordan’s mouth waters.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I don’t wanna die!” Taylor shrieks from next to him, but Sam swaps out five of the ten cups each side, and replaces them with shots (that quite frankly look more like doubles, to Jordan) of tequila.

“Dude, this is such a bad idea...” Nuge mutters, and Jordan shrugs. Game on, motherfucker. 

 

Predictably, the first ball to get sunk is Taylor’s in a shot, and Jordan rock-paper-scissors with Nuge to determine who goes first. Jordan loses, so he makes a face but does it. It burns all the way down, and Jordan has to shake his head to get himself back in the game.

The second, third and fourth ball that go in are for all beer, and the fifth and sixth are for more tequila — but they’re Nuge and Jordan’s balls, so Taylor and Sam are forced into doing shots. The next is one of Sam’s, and he lands it in Patron and it’s Jordan’s turn. He’s slipping from comfortably drunk to whatever comes next, but he throws and flashes a smile, steadying himself on the edge of the table.

Nuge just laughs, but Taylor says something to Sam, and Sam waves his hands.

“House rules, and I decree Jordan Eberle has had way too much fuckin’ booze, so you guys lose. Team Hall and Gagner win!” Sam says. Nuge starts to argue straight away, but Sam drags him off, while Taylor comes to stand next to Jordan.

“C’mon man, let’s get you upstairs...” Taylor says, and Jordan throws his head back and laughs. The phrase he’s waited longest to hear out of Taylor’s mouth, and it comes when he’s too drunk to do anything about it. Amazing.

“He okay?” Ashley asks, appearing in front of his face. Taylor’s arm is around Jordan’s waist, and Jordan’s arm is slung around his neck. 

“I am _great_ ,” Jordan slurs at her, using his free arm to pat her — well, her chest, since his aim is shot to fuck right now, and she rolls her eyes.

“I got him... Sam said to put him in his room, and you’ll tell your parents he’s crashing here?” Taylor says, and Jordan looks out at the rest of the party and wonders if they — he’s going upstairs with Taylor Hall, one of the most amazing guys at the school, and nobody seems to give a shit. It’s kind of disappointing.

“C’mon man,” Taylor says against his ear, and Jordan shivers but tries to help Taylor help him upstairs, getting his legs to move in a way that was like, proper of walking or whatever.

He’s slurring stupid shit at Taylor about how he and Sam cheated to win, because they knew they were gonna lose, when Taylor dumps him on Sam’s bed and helps him take his shoes off.

“Pants,” Jordan whines, and Taylor rolls his eyes but helps him with that too, having to tug a little harder than usual.

“They’re my old pants. I got fat over break,” Jordan says sadly, as Taylor giggles when he almost goes flying at the force. 

“Uh, no you didn’t — you got built as hell,” Taylor says, putting them on the edge of Sam’s desk. Jordan twists his fingers in his t-shirt. 

“Dude, no... like, look at my ass. It’s so huge,” Jordan whines, and Taylor shakes his head and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Why didn’t you come to hockey camp?” he asks, and Jordan sighs and rolls over to rest on his front. It feels like he’s on a boat, everything’s swirly and swishy, and he just — Taylor smells fucking amazing. It’s sad, and he knows it’s sad, but he doesn’t want him to go. Telling Taylor why he didn’t go would make Taylor mad, so he just — he lies.

“Didn’t think I wanted hockey ‘nymore,” he says and Taylor puts a hand on his shoulder, looking unsure.

“But you love hockey. You’ve loved it since we were kids. I — man, you’re the reason I even bothered. I wanted to play basketball,” he says, and Jordan frowns. _He_ was the reason Taylor took up hockey?

“What?” he says, trying to sit up and giving up. He’s way too drunk.

“Uh, yeah? You told me basketball was shit, and there’s heaps of tall hockey players and that I wasn’t allowed to play — because _we_ were gonna play the same sport and you were too short to be a baller,” Taylor says, and Jordan groans. He remembers having that conversation, and how humiliating it’d been.

“So bad,” he moans and Taylor laughs.

“Are you kidding me? It was amazing. You — _you_ were amazing. I mean, you are. I’m just, uh. I’m glad you didn’t give up. It would’ve sucked, if we didn’t play hockey together anymore.” Taylor trails off, and Jordan sighs. 

“I wish...” he starts, his eyes beginning to slide closed.

“What?” Taylor asks, and Jordan reaches out for Taylor’s hands, now in his lap, and laces their fingers together.

“I wish you...” and then it’s just darkness.

 

The next morning, he wakes up to find himself pressed with his back against the wall. His head is pounding and his mouth feels like something crawled inside it and died, and he’s dying for a piss. Unfortunately, or fortunately — depending on how you look at it — Taylor’s dead to the world next to him, and blocking his escape route. Sam’s room is definitely big enough to have the bed in the middle, but for some stupid reason he shoved it up against the side, and Jordan is totally not coordinated enough to get out without like, elbowing Taylor in the face or something.

So, he slides to the end of the bed as slowly as he can manage, and creeps to the bathroom. He manages to avoid puking until after he puts his dick away, and washes his mouth out twice and gargles with the industrial sized bottle of Listerine sitting by Sam’s sink. He staggers back into the room to see Taylor awake, propped up on an elbow and rubbing his eye. 

Jordan might have been hoping to slide back in and go to sleep, just so he could — fuck, pretend like it was real, even for a few more hours. He doesn’t even get that. 

“Hey,” Taylor says, smiling brilliantly at him, and Jordan feels himself fall _more_ in love with the stupid motherfucker. This was such a bad idea.

“I have to go,” he blurts out, and the smile falls off Taylor’s face.

“What, why?” he says, and struggles to sit up as Jordan bends down and sorts through the clothes to find his pants.

“Because, I just — this was a ridiculously bad idea,” he gasps out, and spots his pants on the edge of the desk. He makes a move for them, but Taylor’s upright and cuts him off. He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s a bad idea? You never — God, you are so _frustrating_! I can never work out what you mean about anything!” he exclaims, and Jordan shrinks back.

“Sorry, I just...” he trails off, feeling desperately unhappy. He knows where this conversation is going, and he’s tried to avoid it for so many years... fucking beer pong, fucking _Patron_ , fucking Sam!

“Goddamnit! I fucking, I like you way too much, okay? I’m gay, and I like you — more than a friend. I want to be your boyfriend and do stupid shit like — fuck, whatever. I’m working on getting over it, okay, so it won’t be awkward at school or on the team and—” Jordan says, mostly to the floor, getting cut off when Taylor’s huge hands grab the sides of his face and make him look up.

“You’re such a fucking moron,” Taylor sighs, but he’s — he’s _smiling_ , and then he’s leaning in and kissing Jordan. Jordan’s so fucking surprised he can barely do anything, but then Taylor’s tongue is pressing at his lips, insistent, so Jordan lets his mouth fall open and he melts into Taylor’s arms, wrapping his own around Taylor’s neck.

Taylor dominates him, and it’s like every fantasy and every dream for the past five years he’s had coming true at one. He’s achingly hard and Taylor’s hard too, he can feel it pressing through his boxers against Jordan’s thigh, and he moves a hand down to grip at Taylor’s lower back and hitches his legs wider, so he can get friction against Taylor’s leg. 

He changes angles and Taylor’s tongue is sweeping through him, he’s biting at Jordan’s lower lip and sucking at his top one, moaning into his mouth when Jordan starts grinding against him, pulling him as close as he can. 

Jordan pushes Taylor backwards until he falls on Sam’s bed and pulls his boxers down, Taylor following suit and he’s got — his dick is huge, and Jordan can’t wait to just... to touch it, to get his mouth on it, to have it inside him and against his hand, to memorise the weight and feel and taste of it. Right now, he just wants to touch it, wants to make Taylor _come_.

Taylor pulls him on top and starts kissing again, and he grabs Jordan and himself in one hand and starts to stroke, fast and hard, squeezing at the heads and rubbing his thumb over them.

“Fucking fuck, _Christ_ ,” Jordan chokes out into Taylor’s mouth, being rewarded with a chuckle.

It’s over way too soon, with Jordan burying his face into Taylor’s neck and biting down, riding out his orgasm, shuddering and grinding in Taylor’s arms. Taylor follows him over, and Jordan takes a few beats before he can get his brain in order enough to roll off Taylor and onto his back.

He’s sticky and sweaty, and his mouth aches from the kissing and the stubble burn, and Taylor reaches down for shirt of Sam’s to wipe them off with.

“So,” he says after Jordan lobs the dirty shirt over the end of the bed.

“So,” Jordan echos, and Taylor laughs.

“How did you _not_ realise I liked you?” he asks, and Jordan flushes.

“I dunno. I was focused on liking _you_?” he says, and Taylor rolls his eyes.

“I sat next to you in every class. I used to constantly ask you about like, the most stupid shit — just so I could talk to you. I’d sulk if I didn’t get to sit next to you on the bus. I’m basically in all the same classes as you! I gave you the nickname Ebby, just so I’d have something special to call you. God, I even memorised your favourite coffee!”

“I just thought you were an intense guy. Dude, you are so popular. What the hell do you want with me?” Jordan asks, and Taylor laughs again.

“I’m really not that popular. You just always thought I was. I was part of a lot of clubs, whatever. I only ever hung out with you guys, though.”

Jordan feels like a fucking moron, and rubs his face. “How long?” he asks, and Taylor turns pink and shrugs.

“I dunno, a few years..”

“ _What_?!” Jordan exclaims, and he winces.

“You know exactly how long, c’mon. Now you know what you know...” Taylor says, and Jordan stares at the ceiling. He honestly doesn’t know. Taylor sighs loudly. 

“I was 12, you were 13. You were about to graduate, and I was fucking hating it. I didn’t — you not being at school with me seemed like the worst idea ever. But like, you had Sam and Ryan and Schultzy, all your boys, and you were always so happy and so excited about leaving me behind. I mean, not leaving _me_ behind specifically but like... yeah. I cried every day for a week when school started and you weren’t there. It was really horrible. I told my mom and she said that it seemed like I loved you, a little bit. I told her I — I guess so.”

“Only a little bit?” Jordan asks, his voice thick. He can’t bring himself to look at Taylor, because if he does he’s going to cry, and that just — no. Not now.

Taylor huffs out a laugh.

“It’s been a few years. I busted my ass to get pushed up a year. I literally had no life last year, keeping up my grades and acting like I was super smart so they’d put me up a year. I even got tutors. Meg was — Meg was a cover, to see if you were interested in me at all. It was Sam’s suggestion.”

“Sam knew?” Jordan says, and Taylor shrugs.

“Who else would come up with such a stupid idea?” he says, and Jordan laughs. Yeah, now that he thinks about it — classic Gagner. 

“So, yeah. You got kind of distant and then said you weren’t coming to hockey camp, so I dumped Meg and then... I asked Ryan how you felt. Ryan kind of... we were drunk or whatever, and Ryan just blushed and stammered some shit, because Sam said you never really talked about liking anyone to him. I _had_ to know, and Ryan — well, confirmed it. So, I got pushed up and sat next to you, and then all that weird shit happened and you stopped talking to everyone and turned into a massive douche. I thought I’d... made a mistake,” Taylor trails off, and Jordan rolls over to his side.

“I was trying to get over you. I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he says, and Taylor shrugs and smiles, wriggling closer.

“We’re okay now, right?” he says, and Jordan leans in and kisses him. His stomach twists and he feels like he’s going to explode, he’s so fucking happy — his unrequited love story finally put to rest.

“Yeah, we’re good. Let’s have a nap and we can really fuck Sam’s bed up next round, eh? This is all his fault, anyway.” Jordan says, and Taylor nods.

“Definitely. The best kind of gratitude there is... but fuck the nap — I’ve waited too long,” he says, and pulls Jordan on top of him. 

Jordan smiles and kisses him, his fingers threading through Taylor’s hair. 

 

They’ve both definitely waited far too long for this.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s based in Kingston and set at Frontenac High, which is where Hallsy actually went to school. I couldn’t find anywhere to confirm which sister is closer in age to Ebs, so I just went with Ashley. Thanks to [oriharakaoru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oriharakaoru/pseuds/oriharakaoru) for the Canada picks, and [armillarysphere](http://archiveofourown.org/users/armillarysphere) for the speedy beta. 
> 
> Title ganked from Imagine Dragons' song of the same name.


End file.
